Every Picture Tells A Tale
by wild-minds-think-alike
Summary: When you look at a picture, you think about the story behind it. What happened, why they look how they do, and what they did when they were done. Welcome to the Hetalia Gallery, where every picture has its' own tale to tell.
1. Chapter 1

www. zerochan .net/931792

Italy was a timid, shy little country, though he was one of the oldest out there, many saw him as unless and an easy target. No one had every seen him at night.

He, Feliciano Vargas, or Italy to all but his brother. Was getting ready for his daily lookout, he stripped from his overly puffy uniform, that he him self hated to wear but had to, for his 'image'. He grabbed a wine red silk top, buttoned all but the top three and threw over on top a black tuxedo jacket, he left that open. His pants were also black, a nice material, that was thick enough to keep him warm but not able to over heat himself, the pants also were great for soaking up the blood was usually splattered all over him.

He pocketed his Jericho 941 F, sent a prayer to Mother Mary, and Jesus, to save the souls that he would end that night.

He took the normal route, keeping his stride long and carefree, looking around him for trouble and gangs. There would be no gangs in Italy under his watchful eyes. He pocketed his hands into the deep pockets of his pants, his right hand fingering his gun, running his finger over the cold metal frame smiling.

The light from the lamp-posts hit his eyes, making them glow an eerie golden, they were still glowing even as he left the light of the lamp-post. His stride kicked up a notch as he heard sounds coming from the end of a dead-end pathway.

There were two boys, fighting both had dark hair and dark eyes, with a curl on each of there heads.

"_Che cosa sta succedendo qui_?" Feliciano asked as he slowly pulled out his gun, the shining silver metal glinting in the shadows.

"_Oh, merda_! " One of the boys yelled the one on the right with a swollen lip and black eye.

"_Cazzo. Non vederti lì capo _..." The one on the right said, raising his hands as of to say sorry.

Feliciano looked at both of them, nodded to understand, then smirked. His smile was dark, while he eyes glowed. He aimed his gun at the two boys, that were already covered in blood from there own sins.

"_Arrivederci, e hanno un viaggio sicuro_." Feliciano said, in a strong voice that seemed to sink into the dark shadows that grew in the pathway, he shot, the sound of a gun firing twice rang sharp into the nights crisp air. Blood fell on Felicianos' face, his licked it off and laughed.

"I wonder how I should greet Germany tomorrow?" He whispered to himself, his gaze drifted to his gun, now coated in blood, and smiled that cruel Italian smile. He walked home a slight skip in his step, his Fratello was already home, he too was cleaning the blood from both his face and guns. Their eyes met, and they both smirked. Ah yes, morning was near.

"Vee~"

Well, we hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because there's more of this to come. There's a link at the top because each chapter is based on a picture. Which is the reason we're writing this. We need more pictures to write by, so we would like to ask you readers out there if you can send us links to the pictures via PM or in your reviews. Thank you for reading, we hope you continue to do so. P.S. If you want to look at the picture, the link is up top. Just remove the spaces when you copy and paste it into the search bar.


	2. Chapter 2

Russia trudged through the snow, lead pipe held loosely in his hand. His long scarf fluttered behind him, giving the illusion of visible wind blowing in his wake. His body was weak and his head hung down to his chest in exhaustion. He didn't even know how long he had been walking anymore, couldn't remember where he was going. The only thing that he knew was to put one foot in front of the other.

All it took was one slip-up, he stepped on a single, unbroken patch of ice, and his foot slid forward, bringing him down flat on his back. He didn't even bother trying to get back up, he already knew that he didn't have the energy for it. So he simply lay there, watching his breath drift up into the air and dissipate as the cold vanquished the heat.

He closed his eyes, feeling the blood dripping from the sides of his mouth. If only he hadn't lost that fight, if only he hadn't been kept from getting the land in the sunshine he so deserved, he wouldn't be here now. So here he lay, waiting for the cold to take him and the end to come, alone, in the cold, as he always had been.

The sound of boots crunching in snow caught his ears. He didn't bother looking, knowing that it would probably just be his opponent, coming to finish the job that had been starter. Good, the faster the better, so he didn't have to bear this desolate cold any longer than necessary. However, instead of feeling a weapon or boot crushing in his skull, he felt fingers brushing his icy hair away from his forehead. He slowly opened his eyes, and found himself looking up into a pair of blue eyes, much like the color of the cloudless skies in the southern countries. The warm smile that was underneath those eyes could have melted even the heart of General Winter himself.

"You shouldn't be out in the cold little Russia." Ukraine knelled down in the snow and pulled Russia's head into her lap before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Russia slowly lifted a hand until it was touching her arm, making sure that she was really there. Now that she was there, he wasn't cold anymore. She was all the warmth he needed.


End file.
